14. The Army of Three

Myra and Danse help MacCready find himself again before they track down the Courser.

RJ MacCready sat on his usual barstool at the Last Minuteman , gazing into the dregs of a glass of whiskey. At this point, it was hard to tell if the drink was his last of the night or his first of the morning. It didn't really matter, he supposed. All the days had been blurring together lately anyways. Ever since he'd returned to the Minutemen stronghold, all the mercenary wanted to do was fade into a haze of booze and sleep. The first part he'd taken care of, and as to the second part, well, he'd either stagger into the room he'd secured in the back of the bar, or he'd black out and someone else would get him there. It'd be a pretty peaceful existence, if not for the torment that continued to plague the back of his mind. There was no spirit strong enough, no sleep deep enough, to undo what had happened to him.

The bar was nearly empty, save for Ben, Marcy's bartender. The blonde man had a few years on MacCready, but certainly had less real-world experience. Hell, the man couldn't even mix a decent cocktail without being told exactly what to do every time. His bright green eyes were constantly tinged with insecurity, and it frustrated MacCready to no end. If there was one thing MacCready despised in the people he met, it was insecurity. That was a form of weakness that the wasteland most preyed on. Without confidence, people either cowered or died, often both. The world in which they lived was no place for fearful souls.

Marcy entered the room, broom in her hand as she swept out the refuse of the day. She sighed as her eyes met MacCready's in the filthy mirror behind the bar. "You're still here?" she asked in disdain.

"Yep," was all he said in reply. He wasn't sure what Marcy expected of him at this point. They'd had this same conversation every night for more than a week now. He knew she'd realized that he had nowhere else to go. He frowned as he raised his glass to his mouth with his left hand, cursing under his breath as his trembling arm betrayed him, spilling liquor down his chin. The tremors hadn't gotten any better, it seemed. And the more he drank, the worse they got. Still, it was better to be drunk and shaky than to be sober and terrified. At least that's what he told himself.

MacCready knew in his heart that Lori was dead, that Myra had killed his tormentor. That wasn't the part that scared him. What kept him up at night were the things Lori had said to him as she'd carved into his flesh, words that made him think her actions were almost justified. He'd never been proud of the career he'd made for himself, even if he had been proud of his skill with a sniper rifle. That was why he'd lied to Lucy in the first place, had told her that he was a soldier rather than a man who killed for pay. Now, he didn't even have that skill to be proud of. As long as he couldn't hold his rifle steady, he was nothing.

"I guess I need another," MacCready slurred. "This one's not working any more."

"Maybe you should call it a night, Mac," Marcy said coolly as she looked up from her sweeping. "I think you've had enough."

"I'm...it's fine," he muttered. "Benji, another."

The fair-haired bartender looked between the mercenary and Marcy, his hand barely caressing the neck of a bottle of whiskey. "I'm not sure I should let you have another. Should I?"

Marcy sighed. "Normally, Ben, I'd be pissed if you even asked. As long as he's got caps, you should keep pouring. But in this case…" she sighed. "MacCready, get the hell out of my bar. I'm getting tired of your face. Either go to bed and sleep it off, or I'll have Frank lock you up for being drunk and disorderly. Guy owes me a few favors. Either way, you'll be out of my hair, so it's up to you which you wanna choose."

MacCready sneered at her, struggling to stand. "I know when I'm not wanted," he slurred, staggering out of the bar and into the street. He wasn't sure where he was heading, not that it particularly mattered. All he knew was that he didn't want to stay at the bar, not if Marcy was going to look at him like that. He must have been pretty damn pathetic to garner pity in her eyes. Marcy Long didn't pity anyone.

At least at this hour, there were few other people awake to see his miserable wanderings. Besides the night watchmen that patrolled the streets, Sanctuary might as well have been deserted once more. That suited MacCready just fine. It was easier to be alone.

The cool spring air cleared his head a little. He hated it for that. MacCready didn't want to think, not tonight. He wanted to fade into the haze of booze and weariness that he'd been living in, to just stop being for a while. He wasn't suicidal, just...tired. He was exhausted by worry, by what his life had become.

It was strange. The mercenary had been like this before, just after Lucy's death. He'd spent months in a dull fog, wishing he could pull himself out but unable to escape the pit he'd dug for himself. Then, as the days continued, he'd finally started recovering, devoting himself to the farm, to Duncan, to trying to be the man Lucy had thought she'd married rather than the one he was. And things had started to get better, slowly.

Then, there'd been Myra, the naive young woman who'd taken a chance on him. She'd given him dignity again, had seen him as more than just a hired gun. Between her and Preston, the future had seemed full of possibilities. Neither of the minutemen cared about who or what he'd been. They wanted to work beside the man he was becoming, and MacCready had to admit that had felt damn good.

But then, he'd been kidnapped, and the shadows of his past that he thought had finally been put to bed had emerged with a vengeance. MacCready knew he hadn't deserved a second chance at happiness. The blood on his hands was a stain that could never really be washed away. He'd made some terrible choices in the name of money...so many terrible choices. The mercenary didn't deserve salvation. And now, he wasn't even convinced that he wanted it.

MacCready's swaying steps eventually brought him to Myra's door, and he grumbled as he tripped into her living room, scraping his hand in the doorframe. The house was as silent as a tomb, dark and cool as the night breeze flitted through the paneless windows. Since she and Danse had left, the house had remained empty, a shell of the warm home it once had been, centuries ago. There was a sadness to the dilapidated building that drew MacCready deeper into it, as though the place were a shrine to shattered dreams, a place for lost things to die. It was an oddly fitting place to find himself.

He stopped before a locked door, frowning at it. Even when he'd been to Myra's before, he'd never entered this room. Curiosity getting the better of him, he pulled a bobby pin from the band of his cap, wiggling it into the lock carefully. Normally, a lock like this would be child's play. But between the shaking in his hand and the liquor sapping his dexterity, MacCready had a great deal of difficulty wrestling the damn thing open. After the fourth pin, he finally managed to unlock the door, and he laughed in triumph as he pulled it open to reveal the small room beyond.

MacCready frowned as he surveyed the piles of junk thrown about the room, artifacts of a life that had ended long ago. Here were photographs, faded with age in their broken frames, faces he could barely make out in the darkness. There were old suits laid carefully over a chair, an old uniform of some kind hanging in the closet. But what really caught his eye was the broken crib in the center of the room, a single rocket ship still dangling from the ruined mobile. A worn blanket lay in the base of the crib, faded blue ribbon bordering pale fabric. The mercenary's fingers ghosted over the soft bedding, his eyes misting as hopelessness overwhelmed him.

He remembered when Duncan had been so small, how happy he and Lucy had been. Well, she'd been happy. Frankly, he'd been terrified. Years of looking after younger kids hadn't prepared him for the reality of being a father, not really. Holding a child of his own, seeing Duncan's tiny, perfect fingers clench and unclench as he dreamed baby dreams...it had been overwhelming. At seventeen, MacCready had already seen so much of the shit the world had to offer. How could he possibly protect someone so small, so soft, so innocent from a world that was determined to destroy everything good that remained in it? He'd tried to put his feelings into words, to explain to Lucy why he kept his distance from their son, but no matter what he said, she didn't seem to understand.

It took Lucy's death for him to become the sort of father she'd always wanted him to be. That was one of the things MacCready regretted the most. Those first precious years together, he should have given up sniping. He should have listened to his wife's gentle insistence that they get a farm, a stable place to live. If he'd only listened, if he'd only had the courage to give up what he knew for his family...then Lucy might still be alive. But he'd granted her wishes too late, and now it barely mattered. What was the point in a peaceful life without her?

As MacCready broke down in tears, he wished for the hundredth time that he and Duncan had died alongside her in that metro station. Why had they been cursed to suffer, losing everything, when they could have just met their fate together as a family? But Lucy had convinced him to flee with their son. There was an urgency in her eyes as the feral ghouls had descended on her, as if all her remaining will were condensed into that one final wish: that the people she loved the most would be safe. That they would at least have each other. And against his better judgement, MacCready had done what he could to fulfill that dream.

But now, Duncan was dying, hundreds of miles away, and MacCready's hope for a cure was fainter than it had ever been. He knew where a cure might be. He had everything he needed to obtain it. But if he couldn't shoot, he had no hope of reaching the cure on his own. It would have been difficult enough when he could reliably aim. Now, it was truly hopeless. Duncan would die, and MacCready would be alone in the world, the way he undoubtedly deserved.

He curled up on the floor of the nursery, crying until he had no tears left to shed as he clutched the blanket in his hands. As his sobs turned to dry wails, sleep finally came for him, and he happily embraced the void. Even nightmares were easier to deal with than the reality of his situation. At least nightmares could be woken up from.

"Mac? Hey. Get up."

MacCready awoke with a pounding headache, wincing as he heard someone calling his name. He looked up to see Myra standing over him, her hands on her hips. Her emerald eyes were sharp as knives, but he was still happier to see irritation than pity reflected in them. He wasn't sure if he could bear it if even Myra pitied him. Danse stood behind her, his armored bulk filling the doorframe. He looked less annoyed than Myra did. If anything, the Paladin almost seemed apathetic about the situation. Somehow, that was worse.

"Oh," MacCready said with a low groan as he sat up. "Good morning."

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Myra scolded, helping him to his feet. "I locked that door for a reason, Mac."

"Sorry," the mercenary muttered. "I know, I...I was pretty drunk. Pretty sure I still am, actually. Is the floor supposed to be spinning like this?"

"Easy," Myra said softly, holding him steady. "See, that's why I'm worried about you, Mac. It's one thing to kill your liver. But breaking and entering? You're just going to get yourself in trouble. You're lucky I'm your friend, and not some random settler. You might have gotten yourself shot."

"Don't worry about me," MacCready snapped. "I'm not some kid for you to dote on. I can take care of myself."

Danse scoffed. "I think we'd both believe that more if you proved it, MacCready. While I don't share Larimer's concern for your well-being, I certainly understand it."

Myra frowned. "Danse, please." She turned to the mercenary. "Mac, you look like crap, and not just because of the alcohol. Have you been eating?"

MacCready moaned, holding his head. "Does whiskey count?"

"No, it doesn't," she retorted. "Come on. You're going to get a nice hot bath, and I'll make you some breakfast. Danse, will you please help him get cleaned up?"

The Paladin sighed. "Why is this reprobate my responsibility? He's your friend, not mine."

Myra smirked. "Well, if you'd rather, I can take him to the public bathhouse and you can make breakfast."

MacCready snorted. "That'd be pretty nice, My. You can scrub all the hard-to-reach places for me."

Danse stared at the mercenary, his eyes narrowed in disgust. "Very well. I'll do it." He hoisted MacCready over his shoulder, hauling the mercenary outside.

"Make sure he actually cleans up," Myra called after them. "We need him sober and recharged, Danse. Stay with him the whole time if you have to."

The Paladin groaned, charging faster down the street. "How did this become my life?" he muttered. "I'm one of the most respected officers in the Brotherhood of Steel, not a nursemaid."

"Put me down!" MacCready protested, flailing. "Are you crazy?"

"Listen, MacCready," Danse growled as he continued to plod towards the bathhouse, "I'm exactly as enthused by this as you are. If you'd just try to be responsible for once in your miserable life, neither of us would be in this position. So please, try to make this process as painless as possible, and I promise not to drop you on your head."

The mercenary tried to fight back a wave of nausea. Even in ideal conditions, bouncing down the street face down would make his stomach churn. But now, with an excess of booze in his system… "Ugh, I'm gonna be sick," he moaned.

"Don't even think about it!" Danse barked in alarm. "If you vomit on me, I'll make you clean my armor for a -" Danse's protests were cut off as MacCready heaved violently, the contents of his stomach dripping down the Paladin's back.

"Oh, god," Mac cried. "Please, just stop moving."

Danse sighed heavily, easing the younger man off his shoulder and setting him down on the curb. "You're fortunate that Larimer is so fond of you," he grumbled. "You're pathetic, undisciplined, and a disgrace. If it were up to me, we would have cut you loose months ago."

"Yeah, well we can't all be emotionless robots, Danse," the mercenary groaned. "Look, I'm sorry that I'm not a hardass like you. But what I've been through...hell, I think even you'd drink to forget something like that."

"Doubtful," Danse replied coolly. "And contrary to what you may believe, I do have emotions. I just choose not to let them hold me back. You should try to do the same."

"Oh, trust me, I'd love to," MacCready said glumly. "It's not that easy."

The Paladin shook his head. "It's precisely that easy. But if you'd rather drown yourself in alcohol than actually fight back, I suppose that's your call. Just don't drag Larimer down with you." Danse sighed heavily. "Are you less queasy now?"

MacCready nodded. "Yeah. Um, sorry about your back."

"You certainly will be, by the time you're done polishing my armor," Danse replied, helping the mercenary up. "The bathhouse is two doors down from here. Are you able to walk that far, or do I have to carry you again?"

MacCready shook his head. "I think I can manage. Thanks."

Danse nodded. "Outstanding. Lean on me if you're feeling unstable."

"Can we just get this over with?" MacCready asked, stumbling forward as he walked. "No offense, Danse, but you're not exactly my type. I'd rather not be seen holding on to your arm."

"Don't flatter yourself, MacCready," Danse scoffed. "You act like I've never done this sort of thing for anyone before. While I'd prefer it if you could bathe yourself, you wouldn't be the first intoxicated squadmate I've had to assist in that area."

MacCready managed a smirk. "So we're squadmates now? Gee, that's a step up."

"As long as Larimer asks us to work together," Danse replied, "you're part of my team. Whether I like it or not, that means you're my responsibility. I understand if this...change in our relationship makes you uncomfortable, but I also don't particularly care. You lost the right to protest when you acted so foolishly in the first place."

"I don't think so," MacCready mumbled, entering the bathhouse. "It's too much fun watching you squirm."

The Inner Sanctuary Bathhouse and Spa was located in a large metal building at the end of the cul-du-sac. A series of pipes carried water from the river to a massive water purifier next to the structure, which supplied all the water for the settlement. From there, more pipes carried the purified water over a bed of coals, heating the liquid to a nearly scalding temperature, before connecting to a set of spigots inside the building. Each of these spigots was located above a bathtub, around ten in total. Each bathtub was surrounded by a set of curtains hung from steel rods, creating private spaces in which to bathe. Various homemade soaps and oils were available from a vendor at the entrance, though many patrons just prefered the luxury of hot water.

The Paladin sighed, holding a curtain aside for MacCready. "Of course, I suspect that's why Larimer is fond of you. You both get far too much pleasure from tormenting me. Though I do wish you'd worry more about her well-being and less about laughing at my expense."

MacCready looked up at him with a faint smile. "She's really worried about me, huh?"

"What do you think brought us back to Sanctuary in the first place?" Danse asked. "Larimer wanted to bring you along on our next mission, just as she promised. She's concerned that you're going to keep getting worse if you stay here alone. Frankly, given the state we found you in, I agree with her assessment. But as you are now, MacCready, you're nothing more than a liability. You have to get some control back over your life, and soon. Otherwise, you aren't the only one who's going to suffer."

MacCready frowned as he thought about Myra, about all the things she'd done for him since they'd met. She'd given him a job, had valued him for more than just a tool for killing her enemies. She'd helped him kill Winlock and Barnes, even when it had nearly cost the General of the Minutemen her life. She'd fought and killed Lori, something MacCready would never have been able to do, and then had talked the Brotherhood into treating the mercenary's injuries. No matter how hard MacCready tried to erase his debt to her, Myra was always there, adding another line to the ledger. He owed her so much at this point that he could fight for her for the rest of his life and never feel like he'd done enough.

Now, instead of paying her back any way he could, he'd been wallowing, so consumed by his own pain that he had failed to notice that he was hurting her as well. For some inexplicable reason, Myra Larimer cared about him, really, genuinely cared. Her friendship was a gift, and one he'd failed to appreciate time and again as his struggles swallowed him. She wasn't just his boss. She was a reason to keep fighting. How had he so easily forgotten that?

MacCready yelped as Danse dumped a bucket of cold water over him. "Damn it, Danse!" he hissed. "I'm still dressed! And I thought Myra said I was getting a hot bath, not a cold shower."

Danse smiled slightly. "Your clothes could use a wash as well," he said, drawing the curtain shut around the small space.

"So take them to the laundry next door while I bathe." MacCready shook his head as he fumbled with his duster. "Myra's rubbing off on you, Paladin. And I'm not sure it's an improvement."

The Paladin sighed, helping MacCready out of his sopping clothes. "I filled the bathtub for you while you were daydreaming. Get in, and I'll make sure your clothes get laundered. I needed to head over there anyway, since they have the only hose in the settlement, and I'd like to deep-clean my armor."

MacCready rolled his eyes, struggling into the steaming bathtub. He sighed in relief as the hot water enveloped him. He wasn't a fan of getting wet, but nothing beat a hot bath for easing away all manner of aches and worries. The mercenary's mind started to clear as the heat permeated his bones. And unlike the night before, he was actually grateful for the clarity. Danse was completely right. He'd been standing still for too long. It was time to fight back, to keep his promises to the people he cared about.

Before he'd left for the Commonwealth, he'd promised Duncan that he was going to try and become a better man, the kind of father his sweet son deserved. He'd promised Heather that he'd take care of himself, would avoid unnecessary risks so Duncan wouldn't be an orphan. And here, even if he'd never said the words out loud, he'd made a promise to Myra as well. That promise, most of all, he intended to keep.

"Are you comfortable?" Danse asked as he gathered MacCready's belongings. "Do you need anything?"

"I'd kill for a drink," MacCready quipped, "but something tells me you're not planning on getting me one."

"If you can joke," Danse replied over his shoulder as he walked out of the room. "you're well enough to look after yourself now. Come back to Myra's house when you're feeling up to it. I'll meet you there with your clothes."

"With my...hey!" MacCready fumed. "What am I supposed to wear, then?"

But Danse was already either out of earshot, or had no interest in helping him with that particular dilemma. MacCready sank into the tub with a huff. If it was anyone other than Danse, he'd have assumed that he was being pranked. Was this payback for the armor?

Either way, the hot water worked wonders on his weary body, so MacCready could hardly complain about that part of the situation. The only question was how long he had to come up with a plan before the water cooled too much.

"Hey, does anyone have any extra clothes?" he called nervously. He was met with silence. "Anyone?"

By the time MacCready arrived at Myra's house, blushing deeply as he struggled to keep an old blue bathrobe closed around his body, he was certain that at least half of Sanctuary had seen at least half of him. Prank or not, Danse was going to pay. That was a certainty.

Myra was curled up in her chair next to the window, sipping on a cup of coffee. Danse stood beside her, reading a well-loved copy of Guns and Bullets . The smell of brahmin steak and eggs filled the air, and MacCready could see a skillet on the old stove, its lid covered in condensed steam. His stomach growled loudly, and Myra turned her head, flashing him a winning smile.

"Nice outfit," Myra said, stifling a laugh. "Your timing couldn't be better. I was just about to pull breakfast off the heat. Are you hungry?"

The mercenary nodded, glaring at Danse, who casually flipped to a new page in his magazine. "I'm starving."

"Well, go ahead and sit down at the table, then," Myra said with a gentle smile as she stood and walked into the kitchen. "Your clothes are on the table, if you want to go change first. Though I have to admit, you're definitely making that look work."

"Trust me, it wasn't by choice," the mercenary replied. "Danse didn't exactly leave me any options. I'll admit, I'd be a lot more comfortable in my own clothes."

"Well, there's no rush," Myra murmured. "You can use my room, as long as you promise not to steal all of my stuff."

"Well, I promise I won't steal most of it," MacCready replied with a grin. "Is that good enough?"

She laughed. "Fine. But if anything's missing, I'll know it was you."

"Aww, man," he replied in mock disappointment, "but that takes all the fun out of it!"

Danse glanced up, his deep brown eyes narrowed. "Hurry up. You're not the only one who hasn't eaten yet today."

MacCready contemplated snarking back to the Paladin, but decided against it. If he really wanted to make the man pay, he had to be patient, catch him completely of guard. Besides, he was hungrier than he'd been in years. Like hell was he going to waste time now. After changing quickly back into his duster, he sat down at Myra's dining room table with a happy sigh. How long had it been since he'd had a clean shirt? Or clean socks? It felt good to be a little more put-together again.

Myra smiled as she set a plate of food in front of him. "Has Marcy had any luck getting a salt supplier yet?" she asked.

MacCready shook his head as he carved into the steak in front of him. "You'd think it'd be easy to find a spice dealer, but no one seems willing to carry salt in their caravans. Something about highwaymen targeting caravans that carry it. Either there's some really hungry raiders out there, or the black market's got a use for the stuff."

She sighed. "I'll ask Preston to get his people on it. If someone's after that much salt, it can't be for a good reason, right?"

"Yeah, if anyone can get to the bottom of it, it'll be those people Kes brought in," the mercenary replied. "Heck, I can't think of anyone who wouldn't want to help reopen those trade routes. No one likes bland food that much." He took another large bite. "Speaking of," he mumbled past his mouthful, "what did you use to season this? It's awesome."

Myra laughed. "It's nothing much. Just some stuff I had lying around, rosemary and garlic powder, plus some salt and pepper. But don't tell anyone, okay? I don't want word getting out that I've got a stash."

MacCready frowned. "pre-War herbs, huh? No wonder this tastes so good! You've got to let me see your spice cabinet!"

"Maybe some other time, Mac," she replied with a grin. "I'm afraid it's under some pretty heavy security. But it's good to see you feeling better. You gave me quite a scare."

"Yeah, sorry about that," the mercenary replied. "I just…" he sighed. "I just have a lot to process. What happened with Lori, my arm...there's a lot on my mind. And it was really easy to just let it get to me."

"Well, I hope you won't just bottle it all up like that again," Myra said, resting her hand gently on the top of his head. "You've got to let your friends help you carry the heavy stuff. It's what we're here for."

MacCready's eyes teared up as he thought about his other friends, back in the Capital Wasteland. Heather had told the mercenary something similar when he'd first arrived on her doorstep, Duncan sleeping soundly in his arms as he staggered in, covered in Lucy's blood. She'd cleaned him up, made up a safe place for him and Duncan to sleep. The next day, she and her loudmouth husband had offered to let them stay, giving them a piece of land right next to their farm.

When Duncan had gotten sick, Heather was the one who'd urged him to do whatever he could to find a cure. She'd even offered to come with him, but with a small child of her own, MacCready had refused her help. Instead, she agreed to look after his son, to do what she could for him, even at the risk of her own family. He would always be grateful to her for that.

MacCready had never thought he'd find another person who cared as much about his well-being as Heather did. But now, with Myra, he felt like he finally had. He was beyond grateful for all that she'd done for him, all that she was still doing for him. But at the same time, he couldn't shake the growing dread that built up in the back of his mind. He owed her too much. It was a debt he could never repay, and that worried him.

"So, Danse said we have a new mission," MacCready said, trying to ignore the thoughts that plagued him. "Where are we going?"

"Well," Myra replied with a nervous laugh, "you're not going to like it."

The mercenary gulped. "That bad, huh? Maybe I shouldn't have insisted on coming with you."

Danse cleared his throat. "That would have been a wiser decision. I'm not sure how much help you'll be against a Courser."

MacCready stared at Myra in disbelief. He'd never seen a Courser, but if stories about them could be believed, they were beyond dangerous. Going after one was essentially suicide. "You two lunatics are going after a Courser? Are you fu...are you crazy, My?"

Myra nodded. "I know it sounds like a bad idea, but it's the only way to get into the Institute, Mac. It's the only way I can find my son." She cleared his empty plate. "You can sit this out if you want," she added. "I know it's insanely dangerous."

"Damn right it's dangerous!" MacCready bellowed, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood. He turned to Danse. "You're seriously going along with this?"

"Larimer's right," the Paladin said softly. "I would prefer it if we had another option, but at this juncture, we don't. I promised Larimer that I would help her find her son, no matter the cost. But as far as I'm aware, you've made no such promise. If you would rather remain here, no one will force you to assist us."

MacCready sighed. "As if I'd let you go without me. Fine. I'll help you. But I'm going to need you to promise me something."

"Anything, Mac," Myra replied with a gentle smile. "You've more than earned it."

The mercenary took a deep breath. "I...look, I don't go around sharing this with just anyone. When I came to the Commonwealth, I had to leave my son behind. Duncan…he's sick, with some god-awful disease almost no one I've talked to has seen before. I have a lead on a cure, but I need help getting to it. If I help you get the courser chip, I want you to swear to me that you'll help me get that cure. I know I already owe you, more than I can ever make up for. But please, My. He's all I have left."

Myra stared at MacCready for a moment before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "I had no idea," she murmured. "I'm so sorry. You have my word, Mac. A son for a son seems like a pretty fair trade."

MacCready felt the tension leave his body as he relaxed in her arms. Finally, Duncan had a chance. With Myra's skills, they'd definitely be able to recover the cure. And then, MacCready could finally go home, could see his son and his friends again, could do his best to finally turn his life around and make an honest go of things. "Thank you," he whispered. "Just...thank you."

After a long while, Myra let go of him, and MacCready stepped back awkwardly as he noticed Danse's eyes burning into him. Could the Paladin be any more obvious about how jealous he was? It would have made MacCready laugh if it wasn't so intimidating. Didn't Danse realize that he had nothing to worry about? For better or worse, Myra was completely his. Any fool could see that.

Besides, it wasn't as if MacCready was even interested in her like that. They were friends. Hell, they were best friends. But the mercenary was a mess, and although Myra went out of her way to help him, he still didn't want her to get too caught up in his problems. She'd done more than enough for him already. MacCready couldn't dare to hope that she'd ever be his. It wasn't even worth thinking about.

"Well, since you're coming," Myra said, "I've got a present for you."

MacCready's eyes narrowed. "What sort of present?" He asked.

She laughed, leaving the dining room and retreating to her bedroom. "Now where did I…" she muttered, her voice muffled. "...oh! Here it is!" Myra returned with a pair of long bundles wrapped in threadbare cloth. "Since you're still having trouble with your aim," she said, handing the first package to him, "I had Sturges rig up a little something for you. He dropped it off while you were in the bath. It's just a prototype, so I'm not sure if it'll fix everything, but it should at least help with some of the weakness and shaking."

MacCready unwrapped the package eagerly. Inside was a long piece of hinged metal, leather straps laced through holes along both flat edges. "What is this?" he asked, holding the thing up and looking at it from every angle."

"It's kind of like a brace," Myra replied, "and also kind of like armor. I know it's bulky, and if you don't want to try it, I understand. I got this for you if it doesn't work," she continued, holding out the other object. MacCready set the brace down on the dining room table and opened the package, laughing as he realized what it was. He'd recognize the double-headed axe anywhere.

"Grognak's Axe?" he asked in disbelief. "Myra, you didn't!"

"Oh, yes, I did," she said with a cheeky grin. "I found that in Hubris Comics a while back, and held onto it for a day like today. If you want, you can have both the axe and the brace. Use the axe as a backup or something. I know it's heavy, but I'm sure you can manage."

"I…I don't know what to say!" the mercenary exclaimed. "No one's ever...oh man, you have no idea how awesome this is!"

Myra smiled, taking the brace from the table. "Come on, GrogMac the Barbarian. Let's get this on you."

MacCready groaned. "Please tell me you didn't give me the axe just so you could call me that."

Myra laughed, tightening the leather straps on his arm. "Don't be silly. That's why I also brought the costume home. I'd give that to you too, but I'm not sure you want to face down a Courser shirtless and screaming."

"That would be one heck of a power move," the mercenary agreed. "Deacon would be so jealous if we told him about it later."

"It would certainly be a spectacle," Danse offered. "Perhaps he could distract the Courser with barbaric shenanigans while you sneak up behind it, Larimer."

Myra laughed. "How's the brace feel, Mac?"

MacCready raised his arm carefully, bending it at the elbow. The metal contraption was heavy, and the straps were a little uncomfortable, but he couldn't deny that his arm felt more stable. "It's not bad," he said, stretching his arm out. "It'll be an adjustment, but yeah. I think it'll help." MacCready smiled warmly at Myra. "Thanks, My."

"You can thank me by getting me into the Institute, Mac," she replied. "That'll be more than enough."

"Well, then," MacCready said with a grin, "where's this Courser of yours?"

"We're not actually sure," Myra replied. "We've got a vertibird on standby to take us to the old C.I.T. ruins, but we'll have to track him on foot from there." She waved her Pip-Boy at him. "Virgil gave me the frequency to search for. All we need to do is find where the signal's the strongest, and that's where we'll find him."

"I'm always up for a little tracking," the mercenary said, "but that part of the Commonwealth's not exactly the safest. I can think of at least three raider gangs we'll need to look out for, not to mention ferals and mutants. Are you sure the three of us can handle that and the courser?"

Danse sighed. "MacCready, you can stay here if you'd prefer. No one would blame you."

"Are you kidding?" MacCready protested. "Like I'd let you have all the fun! I'm coming with. I just wanted you two to be prepared. Cambridge isn't exactly a cakewalk." Danse and Myra smiled at each other, and MacCready looked between them, confused. "What? What's so funny?"

"We are well aware of the hazards," Danse replied. "In fact, we've already asked our old squad to clear the area for us. It should be easy enough for us to take care of any undesirables Knight Rhys left behind."

"The Brotherhood has an outpost at the Police Station," Myra added. "I thought you knew that. It's where Danse and I met."

"No, I didn't know that," MacCready grumbled. "It would have been nice to know the rest of the plan, My."

"I didn't think it'd be an issue," she replied. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Just…" MacCready sighed. "You guys are acting like you're running this mission alone. I said I'd help. That means I'd like to be included in more than just the killing, okay? You might not realize it, but I'm pretty good at tactics, not just hitting targets."

Myra nodded. "I didn't think about it like that, Mac. I'm sorry. You're right. I should have told you what we were planning."

The mercenary smiled slightly. "I know you didn't mean it as an insult. And it's really not that big of a deal. I'm not mad. I just want to be useful for more than just sniping. Especially if this brace thing doesn't pan out."

"You already are, Mac," Myra said gently. "I'll try harder to prove it to you."

MacCready felt the heat rise in his cheeks. "My, come on. You don't have to take it so seriously."

She grinned. "If it gets me a reaction like that, I'm going to take it exactly that seriously."

Danse frowned slightly, staring out the window. MacCready wondered what the Paladin was thinking about, but he knew better than to ask. After a long moment, Danse cleared his throat. "We should head to the rendezvous point," he said abruptly. "We can't count on this weather holding, and I'd prefer not to trudge through Cambridge in the rain."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like a great time," MacCready agreed.

Myra nodded. "Danse, if you don't mind grabbing our packs, I'd like to wash these dishes really quick. Mac, do you have what you need?"

The mercenary shook his head. "My stuff's back at the bar. I'll meet you two at the gate."

As Myra and Danse had promised, the route the trio took through Cambridge was remarkably clear of raiders. Here and there, bodies and piles of faintly glowing ash remained as traces of the gangs that patrolled the area, but Danse's team had done an excellent job of clearing the way.

Myra walked quickly in front of the two men, her eyes locked on her Pip-Boy as she tried to pinpoint the location of the Courser's signal. Danse and MacCready followed close on her heels, keeping an eye out for danger and possible obstacles. The mercenary had to admit that it felt good to be back in the field, better than he'd thought it would. Having something to focus on definitely seemed to lift his spirits.

Myra stopped in front of a large, green metal building, frowning at the screen on her arm. "Looks like this is it," she muttered. "Are you guys ready?"

MacCready glanced at the crumbling concrete sign outside of the building. Greentech Genetics . That sounded like all kinds of fun. He sighed. "Ready to fight a homicidal robot? I mean, is anyone ever really ready for something like this?"

Danse nodded. "There's no telling what horrors await beyond these doors," he mused. "But as long as we stick to the plan and watch out for each other, I have every confidence in our victory."

Myra beamed up at the Paladin. "Ad Victoriam, Danse. Let's do this." She opened the door, crouching behind the doorframe as cover. Only silence met her, and she frowned. "Well, I wasn't expecting fanfare," she muttered, "but isn't it strange that no one started shooting at us?"

Danse walked past her into the building, glancing around carefully. "Larimer, it looks like someone already took down the welcoming committee."

"Really?" she exclaimed, following him inside.

Lying across the reception desk was a Gunner, a single laser shot to the head the only visible wound on his corpse. The wound itself had been cauterized by the laser round, but the smell of singed flesh and blood still permeated the air in the facility. Myra gagged, covering her mouth.

"Normally, I'd be thrilled to see a dead Gunner," MacCready said, gripping his axe, "but I get the impression that in this case, that just means that things are about to get a lot worse."

"I agree with MacCready," Danse muttered. "This man died recently, and whoever killed him was an impeccable shot. We need to be on our guard."

"Oh, come on, you two," Myra sighed. "Our courser's definitely been through here, so that means the tracker works. Now, we just have to find him."

"Well, in that case," MacCready said, "I guess we should just follow the bodies, right?"

Myra nodded. "And Danse is right. We need to be careful. Don't take any chances. We have no idea what a courser's really capable of, but from what I've heard, it's not going to be an easy fight, even with three of us."

"Affirmative," Danse replied. "I'll take point. Larimer, you and MacCready should watch each other's flanks, and stay behind me whenever possible. I'll do what I can to protect you." The three of them moved in tandem, Danse walking a few feet ahead while Myra and MacCready continued side by side, scanning for any living adversaries.

They didn't have to wait long. By the time they reached the second floor lobby, it was clear that the building was swarming with Gunners, and not just dead ones. A panicked voice of what MacCready presumed was the unit's commander cried out over the building's intercom as surviving mercenaries swarmed the trio. "Who the hell just came in through the lobby?" the voice exclaimed. "Don't tell me there's another Courser! Someone get down there and find out what's happening!"

"Well, damn," Myra said with a grin. "I didn't know we were going to get to kill Gunners today! I would have packed a picnic."

"Damn it, Larimer," Danse growled as a laser blast nearly grazed Myra's face, "stay focused! You can crack wise after we've completed our mission."

"Noted," she replied quietly, her emerald eyes wide with fear. She shook the feeling off with a deep breath before firing back at her attacker, smiling in self-satisfaction as the man burst into flames.

MacCready readied his sniper rifle, frowning as he adjusted his grip to compensate for the brace. "I guess now's a good time to see if this works," he said with a sigh. He took aim at one of the approaching mercs, and gently squeezed the trigger. The man dropped to his knees, bright blood blossoming across his abdomen. MacCready cursed under his breath. "Damn it, I was going for a headshot," he muttered. He'd never been a fan of making the people he killed suffer. He was a sniper, not a sadist.

"You'll get the hang of it," Myra replied as she finished the keening Gunner off with a laser round. "And I think you're about to get plenty of practice."

The mercenary nodded. "Guess it's just not their lucky day. First a Courser, then a wildly inaccurate sniper. Sorry, boys. Looks like mercy's just not on the table."

They cleared the crowd of Gunners quickly before ascending to the next floor of the building. A hail of gunfire resounded above their heads, as the dying screamed in horror. "Barricade as many corridors as you can!" the commander's voice pleaded. "We have to slow the Courser down, damn it! And keep an eye out for whoever's below us."

Myra grinned. "Always nice to get a mention," she mused, taking aim at a machine gun turret. "Though I'm not thrilled that we're taking second billing."

"Don't worry, My," MacCready quipped as he hit a Gunner in the groin. "We'll come out on top."

Danse pushed forward across a narrow bridge, clearing the other side of the building meticulously. MacCready had to admit, the Paladin's aim was impressive, if a bit mechanical. There was no finesse to his gunplay, just sterile precision. All the same, the mercenary made a mental note never to find himself on the other side of that laser rifle if he could help it. Perhaps pranking Danse wasn't such a great idea after all.

"Holy shit," Myra groaned, "If these are just the stragglers, how many Gunners were here before the Courser arrived?"

"This must have been a pretty major base," MacCready agreed. "I'm surprised that I never knew this was here. Maybe they only took this place over recently."

"Either way, they're getting evicted," she replied. "I think we're almost to the top. Let's keep going."

The trio pressed onward amid a hail of laser fire, clearing room after room as they wound their way through a labyrinth of blockaded halls and destroyed passages. It was hard to tell how much of the damage was recent and how much had occurred when the bombs fell, but either way, the climb seemed more difficult the higher they went. Eventually, they came to an elevator, and Danse motioned Myra and MacCready inside.

"Remember," he warned, "exercise extreme caution with this Courser. I highly doubt that he'll give up without a fight."

Myra nodded. "Mac, I'd like you to hang back and provide cover fire. Keep an eye on the door in case we missed any Gunners, and don't let the Courser through."

MacCready smiled grimly. "I'm on it, My. No one's getting in or out."

"Good," she replied. "Danse, it's up to you to keep the Courser occupied. But please, be smart about it. I'll be pissed if either of you die today. Is that clear?"

The Paladin nodded. "Affirmative. I'll pin him down."

Myra's eyes darkened. "I want the two of you to promise me something. If anything...If I don't make it, please, save my son."

MacCready shook his head. "You're getting out of this alive, Myra."

She smiled sadly at the mercenary. "I'd prefer that outcome myself. But just in case. Please. You two have to promise that you'll find a way to get to Shaun."

Danse sighed. "Larimer, I won't let you die today. But if for some reason I fail to protect you, I give you my word that I will not fail your son."

Myra took his hand in hers, giving it a tight squeeze. "Thank you, Danse. I know you'll do everything you can."

"Well, if you think I'm letting Danse take all the credit, you're crazy," MacCready said, trying to suppress the dread that squirmed like maggots in his gut. "I'll be there until the job's done, with or without you." He locked eyes with her, pleading. "Just, please, My, let's make sure it's with you."

She nodded. "I'll do my best. And Mac?"

"Yeah?" the mercenary replied.

Myra took his hand with her free one, staring into his eyes. "I'm making you the same promise. If you...if you don't come back with us, I'll find the cure for your son, if it's the last thing I do."

"I…" he nodded. "Thank you."

She closed her eyes, holding onto her companions tightly. MacCready could feel her tremble as the elevator continued to rise, her face pale. " Rex tremendæ majestatis ," she whispered, " qui salvandos salvas gratis, salva me, fons pietatis. Recordare, Jesu pie, quod sum causa tuæ viæ: ne me perdas illa die ."

MacCready wanted to ask her what she was saying, but before he got the chance, the elevator doors slid open, revealing a narrow room. Myra quickly released his hand, readying her laser rifle. "No mistakes," she murmured. "We'll probably only get one shot at this."

Danse nodded. "Larimer, I…" He sighed. "I'm extremely proud of you. I hope that you know that."

She smiled gently at the Paladin. "It's been an honor, sir. Now, let's send this synth bastard to hell."

"Outstanding!" Danse exclaimed, charging up the stairs.

Myra turned to MacCready. "Thank you, Mac. For everything."

He frowned. "Stop talking like you're going to die," he muttered. "You aren't allowed to die until I've had a chance to pay you back. You know I hate it when things aren't even."

Myra laughed. "I'll take that under advisement." With that, she followed Danse up the stairs, MacCready hot on her heels.

When they finally reached the top of the building, the courser was waiting for them. He seemed...more normal them MacCready had been expecting. Outside of his long, black coat and the small pile of dead mercs at his feet, the synth could have easily passed for anyone. The Courser eyed them warily.

"Are you here for the synth?" it asked in an unexpectedly gentle voice.

Danse frowned. "There's another synth here?" he asked.

"So you aren't here for it," the Courser replied. "That means you're here for me. What do you want?"

Myra rolled her eyes. "What do you think, genius? We need that chip in your neck."

The Courser readied his gun with an almost sad sigh, his pale eyes watching Myra carefully. "That you cannot have. I suggest you leave, now. I would hate to kill you."

"Unfortunately," Danse growled, "we don't share your sentiment."

Myra nodded to MacCready, and he backed out of the room, using the doorframe for cover. "Now!' she cried, and she and Danse opened fire.

The Courser frowned, activating a stealth field. "Very well," he mused. "If you insist, I'll make this as painless as possible."

"Wish I could say the same!" Myra retorted as she fired at the space he'd inhabited. Bright fire illuminated the Courser's outline as her incendiary rounds found their mark. "There he is!" she shouted. "Keep him busy, Danse!"

The Paladin charged forward, backing the Courser into the far corner of the room. Myra quickly climbed to a platform above the battle, situating herself behind a metal crate. She took careful aim at the fiery outline of the Courser, bolts of hot red laser fire screaming past Danse and into the blaze. The Paladin grunted in pain as one of the Courser's blue bolts grazed his cheek, burning the skin in its wake. Still, he kept the synth in place, shooting into him at point-blank.

MacCready sneered as a pair of Gunners rushed the stairs. "Don't even think about it," he warned, rifle trained at the first one's head. "No way I'm missing at this range."

They held their hands up in surrender. "Okay, geez. You can keep the damn synth," one of them muttered under her breath. "I quit. This gig sucks."

MacCready chuckled. "Good call. Now get out of here before I decide not to be so nice. And hell, maybe think about leaving the Gunners. Otherwise, I'm probably going to kill you eventually anyway."

The other Gunner rolled his eyes. "No one leaves the Gunners," he said.

MacCready shook his head. "I sure as hell did. But hey, your choice. If you want to do an honest day's work for a change, though, you should go talk to Preston Garvey at the Castle. The Minutemen could use a few good shots. They sure don't pay as well as the Gunners, but there's less risk. And who knows? You might actually enjoy being the good guys for once."

The Gunners looked at each other for a long moment before charging back down the stairs. MacCready wasn't sure if they'd follow his advice, but it didn't really matter. Wither the Minutemen just earned a couple extra guns, or MacCready had a couple more faces to put with his enemies. Either way, Myra and Danse didn't have to worry about getting flanked.

He turned his attention back to the battle. The Courser's stealth field seemed to be weakening, and the synth was breathing heavily, his aim becoming more and more erratic. Myra cried out in triumph as her shot toppled the synth, and Danse pinned the Courser down with a heavy steel boot.

Myra jumped from her perch, approaching the Paladin. "Good work, Danse," she said, impressed. "I really thought that was going to be a lot harder than it was."

Danse nodded. "Agreed. Either these Coursers are less formidable than we've been led to believe, or it simply wasn't prepared for our assault. Either way, we have what we need now."

Myra nodded, pulling a knife from her boot. She tore into the synth's neck, her fingers slick with blood as she felt around for the chip. "I think I've got it!" she exclaimed, extracting a small device from the Courser's body. The synth struggled slightly, its face contorted in pain. Myra knelt beside it, her eyes cold as she snapped its neck.

MacCready grimaced as bile rose in his throat. He knew Myra was focused on her mission, but he hadn't expected such a brutal action from her. The Commonwealth was changing her, toughening her up, and that wasn't a bad thing. But there was a bloodlust in her that concerned him. If left unchecked, it could be a real problem in the future. He approached her carefully, making sure to make enough noise not to startle her. "So we're good?" he asked calmly.

Myra looked up at him, and he saw the coldness leave her eyes, replaced with the gentle light he'd grown accustomed to seeing in their green depths. "Yeah. I think we are. Holy cow, I was not expecting that to work."

MacCready chuckled. "That was pretty obvious from the way you were freaking out in the elevator," he teased.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered, wiping her hands on the courser's coat. "Let's get out of-"

"I could use some help over here!" cried a panicked voice from behind a set of locked doors.

MacCready peered through the room's windows. "There's a girl in there!" he exclaimed.

Danse frowned. "It's probably the synth the Courser was referring to. We should put it down."

The mercenary shook his head. "Why? I'm no fan of synths, but she seems like she's in trouble. Why kill her?"

"Synths are an abomination against the natural order," Danse retorted coldly. "They are the sworn enemy of the Brotherhood, another example of technology running amuck. It's our duty to destroy it."

Myra's eyes flitted between the two of them as the men argued. Finally, she cleared her throat. "I'll take care of it," she said sternly. Danse, I want you to make sure our route out of here is clear."

The Paladin nodded. "You're right, Larimer. You should do the honors. After all, this is your victory."

She smiled warmly at him as he left the room. As soon as he was out of sight, however, her smile faded. "Mac?" she asked softly.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Do you think…" she sighed. "I'm sorry. You don't need to worry about me." She walked over to the console, opening the security door. "Come on out," she said gently. "No one's going to hurt you. You're safe now."

The synth carefully peeked out from behind the doorframe. "I...are you certain?" she asked, her eyes wide.

Myra nodded. "Give us a few minutes to clear out before you leave." She rummaged in her pack, extracting a scrap of filthy paper. "If you need help, go to these coordinates. I have friends who can take care of you."

The synth shook her head. "I've got to learn to survive on my own," she murmured. "The Commonwealth is brutal. I can't trust anyone."

Myra smiled, pressing the slip into the synth's hands. "I understand. But if you change your mind, the offer's open. Good luck."

"Thank you," the synth replied. "I won't forget this."

Myra waved to her over her shoulder as she headed for the door. "Come on, Mac," she muttered. "Danse will get suspicious if we take too long."

As they continued down the stairs, MacCready turned to Myra, his brow furrowed. "You lied to Danse," he whispered. "Are you sure that's something you want to do?"

She shook her head. "I didn't lie. I took care of her, didn't I?" She sighed. "Look, I don't want to keep secrets from him. But how do you think he'd react if I asked him to spare her? The Brotherhood's position on synths is clear."

"So why do you support them, Myra?" the mercenary asked. "If you don't agree with what they stand for, why do you still work for them?"

Myra sighed. "I...I agree with a lot of what Maxson says. A lot of what the Codex says. I think the Brotherhood of Steel really does have good intentions. But I just wish they'd understand that there are nuances to things. Synths are extremely dangerous. But that doesn't mean that they have to be killed for no reason. I want to help them understand that. If we really can't tell the difference between gen 3 synths and humans, doesn't that mean something?"

"They're still machines," MacCready said. "They aren't people."

"But we don't know that for sure," Myra replied. "Until I know more about how they're made, I'm going to judge them the same way I judge humans. Kill the bad ones. Protect the good ones. That's all I can do. I won't risk killing an innocent person just because they're a synth. That doesn't sit right with me."

MacCready nodded. "I suppose that makes sense," he replied. "I'm not sure I agree with you either, but in this case, I think you did the right thing. Just..." he sighed. "Look, if you care about Danse, you're going to have to be honest with him eventually. Take it from me, you don't want that kind of thing hanging over your relationship."

Myra frowned slightly, her eyes distressed. "I...I know. I wish things weren't so complicated. Hell, I don't even know how I feel about him. Not really. I guess I have a lot to think about, huh?" she added with a heavy sigh.

"Yeah. Sounds like you do," MacCready replied. "I wish there was any easy way to handle this, My. I really do. But you're going to have to decide what you really stand for, sooner or later. And you're going to have to accept that your decisions will have consequences. I know it sucks, but that's life."

They continued on in silence until they arrive at the lobby, where Danse stood, lost in thought. The Paladin barely noticed as they approached him, his eyes a thousand miles away. MacCready shook his head. Those two were so hopeless.

"It's done," Myra said calmly.

Danse stiffened in surprise before meeting her eyes. He smiled at her, nodding in approval. "Outstanding."

"I'm going to find someone who can help me get the data off of this thing," Myra said, fiddling the chip carefully between her fingers. "Are you up for another long walk, Danse?"

"I'll have to decline. I need to report back in to Maxson," Danse said stiffly. "I want the Brotherhood prepared to move on whatever information you can get off that chip."

Myra nodded. "I understand, Danse. Thank you again for all your help." She looked to the mercenary. "So, Mac, you up for it?"

"Is it ok if I sit this one out, too?" he asked. "I have to finalize the plan for our trip to Med-Tek Research. Tell you what? Meet me in Starlight after you get back from your trip to the Institute."

"Okay, I guess that works." Myra thought for a moment. "Hey, have you heard anything from Deacon lately? Are he and Nick done with their investigation?"

MacCready shrugged. "I honestly haven't heard one way or the other. You know how Deacon is. He'll just vanish for a while, then next thing you know, he'll be sitting next to you dressed as an old man and asking if you've seen his grandkids or something. If you want to know what he's up to, you should just go back to…" he looked over at Danse, frowning. "...that place he hangs out," MacCready finished.

Myra nodded. "Yeah. I guess since I'm going alone anyway, I could just meet him there."

Danse gave her a strange look. "Where are you rendezvousing with Deacon?" he asked. "Why would you have to meet him alone?"

Myra's eyes widened as she tried to think of an excuse.

"Deacon works for the black market sometimes," MacCready interjected. "He gets really skittish when too many people show up to his meetings. Can you blame him?"

Danse frowned. "I suppose not. But I'm not so sure you should be associating with someone like him, Larimer. The wasteland's dangerous enough without diving into the criminal underbelly."

Myra smiled gently at the Paladin. "I promise I won't get involved in any shady backroom deals, Danse."

MacCready cleared his throat. "Any more backroom deals, you mean. I mean, My, we literally met in a back room."

"See?" Myra said, motioning to the mercenary. "Even though the last backroom deal I made worked out pretty well, I promise I won't buy any more mercenaries or discount chems. Is that good enough?"

Danse sighed. "Every time I let you out of my sight, Larimer, I come to regret it later."

She chuckled. "I'll miss you too, Danse. Say hi to Maxson for me, will you?"

The Paladin nodded. "I'll take the vertibird, so I'm afraid the two of you will have to either catch another one or walk."

"I'll walk," Myra said. "Mac, do you want me to call a second 'bird for you?"

The mercenary shook his head. "I think I'd rather walk too. I could use some more target practice. Besides, there's a few things I wanted to pick up in Diamond City on the way back."

"Will you be okay on your own?" Myra asked, concerned.

"What, so I'm not capable of defending myself any more?" MacCready teased. "I'll be fine, My. You just worry about yourself."

She smiled, pulling him into a hug. "Call Preston on the radio if you get into any trouble. We've got friends all over now. Someone will be able to help if you need it."

He nodded. "I will. See you at Starlight."

Myra grinned. "See you."

And with that, MacCready found himself alone once more. This time, though, he wasn't nervous. Soon, he'd have Duncan's cure in his hands. For the first time in a long time, everything was finally going to be okay.

AUTHOR NOTES: I don't usually include these, but I thought it might be nice to explain the Latin. Myra is praying part of the "Dies Irae" in this chapter, frequently used as part of the Mass for the Dead. The words she says basically translate to "King of fearsome majesty, who freely saves those who are saved, save me, Font of Mercy. Remember, merciful Jesus, that I am the cause of thy way (the reason you came to earth, basically). Do not forget me on that day (that you return in the Second Coming)." I've always loved this prayer, because it's pretty badass. If you've never heard it, look up one of the chant versions on Youtube. It's beautiful. I thought it'd be an appropriate thing for her to have on her mind as she faces the Courser.

Also, We're getting close to the end of another volume (only 3 chapters to go!). That means it's time for me to pick what side story I'm going to write between "The Fates That Numbered Our Days" and the ominously-titled "The Fates That Tore Us Apart". I'm having a hard time deciding what to do, so I thought I'd open it up to you guys! Would you rather read about:

1. The Adventures of Knight Danse and Squire Maxson (Filling in some of the time between Fallout 3 and 4 with how they became friends, etc.)

2. Nick and Deacon hunting the man behind the creation of Lori

3. Some pre-War fluff between Myra and Nate

4. Suggest whatever else you want to read! Do you want to see my take on Nuka-World? Really curious about what Hancock's been up to for the last few months? Or Pipes? I'm definitely open to suggestions, if none of the above choices appeal to you, and I like the challenge. Heck, even if I don't use your idea this time, if I like it, I'll still write it as a special gift to you, since I can't get enough of this setting!

I'd love to hear from all of you, if there's something you want to see. If you haven't noticed by now, I love interacting with you guys. It makes me so happy that other people care about this ill-advised, massive project of mine. But even if you don't care what I do next, I still really appreciate you all!

Your Faithful Scribe,

Mnemoli